Sin and Soul
by Pink-Magick
Summary: Rated R for very adult situations and a romantic relationship between a teacher and an underage student, this dark comedy is inspired by Nabokov's "Lolita" is Remus Lupin's testimonial about his obsessive, devouring, and doomed passion for a student.
1. Lolita

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Ms.Rowling. Although rather different, I owe many terms in this fic to Vladimir Nabokov.

**A/N (MUST READ):**I chose to use Penelope Clearwater as the "Lolita" character, seeing how her name is the only one that can actually be shortened to "Lo". Along with that, she is just a very intriguing little character that not much is known about, but yet she possesses an air of mystery. Therefore, I find her perfect to take on the "Nymphet" role. I use Lupin as the "Humbert" because, well, just read it.

* * *

_ Madamoiselle Deauclaire._ My sin, my heart. Yes, her last name was "Clearwater" in the plain English form that it had been translated to when she had been moved to London from Versailles at age eight, in order to escape the Civil War which was breaking-out there. She was Penelope on the dotted line of my class roster, a name which I passed-over quickly without much thought aside from what it read of :  
  
Name: Clearwater, Penelope  
Year: 6  
House: Ravenclaw  
  
She was called Penny by her schoolmates. It was a perfect name for the innocent little girl-child that she appeared to be with her long red curls held back in two braids, and her sweet little schoolgirl uniform with a shining Prefect pin upon her newly developed breast. Little Penny liked to giggle with the girls and tease the boys. The boys all liked her very much. She would always kiss those pubescent fellows, making them unable to control the tightening of their trousers - - a sensation that I reckon, was still quite new to them. None of Penny's little boyfriends were past the age of seventeen. That meant, of course, that they still had yet to master how to unhook a bra.

By some, she was called Lola. That, I should have taken as a warning in itself as to the character of this child. I had read Nabokov back a short while before I had gotten-up the gumption to apply for the teaching job at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Therefore, when I came-upon a fifteen year old girl who people tended to call "Lola", I knew to put-up a red flag.

But maybe it was because of that factor, that I could not keep my eyes off of her. There was something almost Veelaesque about the child in the way that she would waltz into my classroom, often giggling carelessly with some of her classmates, and then stop when she saw me. She would always do this odd movement where she would look down at the ground, and then slowly move only her emerald eyes up to look at me in almost a secretive fashion. More than often, she was popping some bubble-gum. When I would tell the students to sit down, my Lolita would take her seat, and proceed to stick her gum under the desk. Now, I knew that as her teacher, I ought to have chided her for doing so, but Lolita had a certain way of getting away with anything without getting in the least bit of trouble.

Lolita. That is what I eventually started calling her as I found myself eagerly awaiting ,my fifth period class so that I could observe my little nymphet. Yes, she was in fact, a nymphet. Now, nymphets are rather rare in number and even harder to spot. They are not the little girls who try too had to act older than they are, those such girls come off as looking foolish and are often cause of mistake. Nymphets do, indeed, look and act their age.

Now, there would not have been a Lolita if there had not been a Lily. It had started the year that I was the age of my Lolita, ironically in the same year that she was born. The things that happen when you are sixteen, tend to determine the rest of your life. Sixteen was the age that I fell in love with Lily Evans. Like Lolita, Lily was the girl who was popular amongst the students, looked at as 'ideal' by the teachers, and the fire of my heart and loins. Then it was not a crime for me to look upon such young girl, as I was a mere child, myself. Funny how just sixteen years between two people can change relationships from "innocent" to "sinful". When I shut my eyes, I remember Lily in such general terms as: "ivory skin", "shapely hips", "large emerald eyes", "long red curls"...and so on.

Those are the pictures that the mind paints in order to preserve memories long since gone. Those memories are what you feed on at night in order to fall asleep. You close you eyes and wrap your arms around yourself, envisioning that you are reliving those fleeting moments once again. You know that you never shall, but it is consol enough to remember that at one time, you were in such a love. That is how you know if the love is real - - if you return to it in the loneliest hours of the night.

I remember Penelope in such a way. At least now, I do. Back before I had touched her soft skin, or pressed my lips against her hot little mouth, I always imagined what it would be like - - how I would be able to get her in the right time and place in order to act upon my feelings. Then, when we were together, I imagined what the next day would bring - - it was all good then, as nothing was impossible. Now I am at the same state with her that I am with Lily. I thrive off the memories.

That is what this testimonial is - - my recollection of my taboo relationship with Penelope Clearwater: My nymphet. My Lolita.


	2. Nymphet in the Garden

As many people in Magic Europe know by now, I am not a 'normal' man, but a lycanthrope. Thus, that made my childhood rather difficult, especially when it came to making friends, as youngsters between the ages of eleven and seventeen tend to be crueller than even the most vicious of fully-grown tyrants. However, I managed to survive my own schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry through my three friends, Sirius, James, and Peter, who luckily were that group of boys who unofficially owned the social realms of the boarding school.

While I managed luck in the field of friends, girls were not half as accepting of the disorder which plagued me. Of course, when I started school as a mere child of eleven, I did not even consider things beyond my newly-found friends, studies, and Quidditch. However, that lasted for less than a year, as suddenly those silly little creatures who were merely well- polished equals, slowly blossomed into intriguing beings that possessed wonders that we could not help but divulge our senses in, even if it went unspoken.

Sirius and James were, as expected, popular amongst the young females who wandered the halls of Hogwarts. Peter and I, however, were not. No, I was not an ugly youth, but I was a werewolf, and therefore, I was just off limits. Off limits to everyone, that is, except for Lily Evans.

Lily had this amazing ability to see the beauty in things, even when they had none at all. Perhaps it was because she was so beautiful herself, or maybe it was just because she was one of those odd angels that was brought down from the heavens only to aid those unworthy of her attention, before being brought back up to join the Gods.

At what seemed like all at once, Lily and I were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonisingly and hopelessly in love with each other. Mind you, we were hardly sixteen at the time, so every kiss, every touch, every hidden session of inexperienced passion that could have cost us our Prefect badges, seemed like they would last forever, because at that age, we were certain we knew everything.

However, just three years after that, she had gone and married James. Four years later, she was pregnant, and five years later, she was dead.However, thirteen (oh! That dreaded number!) years after, I broke her spell by incarnating her in another.

* * *

Now, the one problem with taking the teaching job at Hogwarts, was the fact that I had to find summer boarding in London so I could commute to the school via Hogwarts Express throughout the summer, without having to pay extra by taking it from somewhere other than Kings Cross Station. Such things were always a bother, as it meant I had to kip in a stuffy guest room which rarely had any correct accommodations, and then was kicked out as soon as the first full moon came.I expected no difference as I approached a rather typical looking townhouse which was surrounded by climbing flowers on the wall, which seemed to have been overgrown on purpose to give it a rustic look. I rang the doorbell. At first I wondered if anyone was home, but then I heard what sounded like children yelling from the back of the house, so I remained in front of the door anyway, until it was swung open.Standing in front of me was a fat woman who was dawning heeled golden sandals, maroon slacks, yellow silk blouse and a cigarette holder - - all in that order. She was the kind of woman in her late thirties who was far too over kept, all in order to appear to not be aging when, in fact, by doing so, she was making it all the more obvious. You know the type; brown hair poofed up in an over-sprayed bun, over plucked eyebrows, shiny forehead...that was Charlotte Clearwater. After taking one glance of her, I prayed the children I had heard in the back did not belong to her, as she seemed to be the type of mother that would arrive to drop-off her child at Kings Cross Station in rollers and a bathrobe.Charlotte then gave me the tour of the house, which I will not go into, as one does not wish to read it. She brought me into the kitchen, which took an hour, as she had to tell me the background story of every potholder she owned. She then showed me the WC, which there was only one of, and that one had a pink cosy coyly covering the toilet seat. Then the two rooms near it (where "I and Lo have our rooms" – Lo presumably the maid), and then the classic stuffy room in which I was to board."I see you are not favourably impressed," said the lady, letting her hand rest upon the sleeve of my left arm, as if to lead me somewhere else, "Just wait until you see the yard!"And with that, I was lead out to the yard, which was bright green and full of odd flowers. It was then that I discovered that the yelling was, in fact, coming from her yard. There were four teenagers, three boys, two of whom were waving their wands over a sprinkler and turning the water into colours, and one who was just sitting there scowling at them (he seemed like the one that the other two were simply hanging out with due to the fact that they had their entire life, and it was too late to quit now).I made my way over to the front of the porch, to try and see exactly what they were doing, when, without warning, I felt my heart jump into my throat. There, kneeling over the sprinkler was my Hogwarts love peering at me from over dark sunglasses.It was the same child- the same delicate, honey-hued shoulders, the same wavy crimson hair, and the same sun-kissed skin. She wore nothing more than a summer frock of white linen, which had become nearly transparent due to the water. However, she had on a swim suit under it, which kept my eyes but not my mind from wandering down to her juvenile breasts.My gaze was broken when Mrs.Clearwater spoke again, "That's my Lo," she said gesturing towards the little nymphet. She then looked towards the boys, "Those are Percy, Oliver, and Cedric. They are not mine, but the three little brats who follow Lo around and make a mess out of the house."The old cow of a woman then glanced towards the children and bellowed: "Get out of the yard! The three of you! You're trampling my daisies!"Wicked woman. Had it not been for Little Lolita, I would have left the Clearwater residence at that moment. 


End file.
